Hard Promises
by pen 'n notebook
Summary: "Every kid is a friend, every friend a brother." Jack has a haunting secret, one he's more than willing to forget and move forward, but David, Les, Sarah, Snyder, and the newsies won't let him. [Modern Day. Rewrite of old story.]
1. Chapter 1

**NA:** A few years ago _Hard Promises_ was my first attempt at fan fiction, and it was alright at the time, but now I'm a more mature writer. I wanted to write it again because I feel that I didn't do the story justice the first time. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Newsies is not mine. The title is not even mine. Before_ Newsies_ was a musical it was a drama called _Hard Promises, _about striking newsboys with a certain subplot that never made it into the final movie. This story is a mashing of the two in a modern setting without the music or strike.

* * *

><p><strong>Hard Promises<strong>

"Every kid is a friend, every friend a brother."

* * *

><p>Chapter One<p>

Jack Kelly walked towards the doors of the old high school building. The worn, faded brick structure looked like the rest of the outdated city as it cast a dark shadow over the entrance: outdated, underfunded.

From a distance strangers outside the city easily mistook the building for a prison. Given the right angle and lighting it looked like one. Inside everyone knew better and simply called it Hell. It didn't matter-either way both groups were right.

Jack walked instead of driving, wanting an excuse to be late. He already was today by an hour. The high school sat awkwardly on the edge of the city, as if the builders couldn't decide the location and finally stuck it between the city and suburbs. At least it made transportation easier.

No one noticed him, but no one paid attention either. So what if he was a few blocks off from the city? Dozens of people walked the streets all the time.

Jack looked away from the building's skyline. To Jack city life was familiar. He had always lived near it. No matter how many times he'd moved around-like the city was in his blood or something. He would never escape the people and noise. Sometimes, he had to admit, the chaos was a nice distraction.

He stepped inside the school and let the doors swing behind him. Already he felt the tardy slip between his fingers; not that it worried Jack. The first block teacher was an old woman, crabby and too vain to wear glasses she desperately needed.

Making his way to the activities office, Jack faintly hoped Racetrack slid into his seat for a few seconds of attendance. He better, but it would be just his luck today if the gambler didn't. If not Jack silently promised revenge. Race, occasionally reluctant to enable Jack, would roll his eyes soon as Jack entered fashionable late. The gambler always did.

Surprisingly the interior of the high school looked nowhere as bad as the outside. It was just as old, but not as dark or gritty and certainly not anything to be considered modern. The custodial staff kept the district and Principe P. happy because after all, that's what mattered in the end.

Most mornings the front office weren't that busy. Jack knew all too well. One or two late sleepers like himself walked out with tardy slips. Two guys from an early morning scuffle, rare as they were, were seen waiting for the vice-principle to finish his morning rounds. More often than not some teacher pet skipped down to the office with a message. Overall, nothing exciting.

Jack stopped before reaching the office doors and hung back to watch two students through the glass windows. They were new, he could spot the look a mile away, having gone through the same experience a couple dozen times in the past few years.

But why would anyone transfer near the end of the year?

Jack recognized most of the school population by sight, not an easy feat considering the school was huge. Sure enough he hadn't seen them before. Besides, they looked stereotypical, as nervous, confused and, dare he think, somewhat hopeful.

Having been through the same situation himself a dozen times, he had no need to watch them, but Jack stopped anyway out of their sight from the glass doors. What difference would a few more minutes make?

A boy and girl, who Jack assumed were brother and sister stood at the front desk taking the numerous folders and papers a secretary gave them: sports, academics, clubs, arts, teams, activities . . .

Jack watched them trying to guess their grade. Too tall for freshmen, though Race was just as short as any of the annoying hall blockers. Jack couldn't pin point it for sure though he guessed upper classmen.

The boy's clothing looked more formal than Jack's, but still casual. Prepy in other words. He'd fit among the Honors kids easily. The boy's hair was neatly trimmed but curly, unlike his sister's which was long and perfectly straightened.

Jack looked her over more carefully. She wore a simple jean skirt, knee length. Her shirt was form fitting and the flats she wore matched the color. Respectable, he thought. The school needed more girls dressed like her.

They were trying to look nice on their first day. How cute.

He waited, and a minute or two later they stepped out holding the papers. Jack stepped backward behind the corner wall so they couldn't see him. Why, he wasn't sure, habit maybe. The two argued whispering to each other down the hallway as they left.

Jack left his hiding spot and opened the office door. The same secretary looked up and tried to hide her smile but couldn't. He saw it while he stepped up to the front counter.

"You're late." She said smiling coyly at him as she gave up her attempt to be serious.

"I know." He answered. He charmed her by flashing a brilliant smile. It worked every time.

She quickly filled out a paper from the notepad while continuing the routine lecture. "You can't keep doing this. I'm surprised you haven't been expelled yet."

He shrugged. "Naw, don't worry about me. You know, it wouldn't happen if school started in a few hours later." Jack explained.

She chuckled, enjoying the banter. "Good luck with that one."

"Hey, who were those two, that were just in here?" Jack asked with a sudden interest, trying to be casual.

"New." She said glancing up at him curiously before looking back to the counter. "So stay away from them. They look decent."

Jack's smile faded into a look of mock pain as she looked up at him again. "Me?" He teased as the brilliant smile returned. "Not decent. I'm the best of the best."

"Trust me, we know." She laughed as she ripped the slip off the pad and pushed it in his direction. "Off with you. Don't let me see you tomorrow either" She said, shooing him out with a smile.

Jack took the slip before turning to walk out. Once in the hall his million dollar smile changed into a well deserved smirk as he crumpled the slip of paper and stuffed it into his pant pocket.

Flirting with office secretaries wasn't something he enjoyed, but it kept him out of detention. He knew they liked it when he smiled, so Jack often used it to his advantage. One smile and they'd let him get away with murder. Literally.

He slowly walked down the halls toward the class he should have been in. It wasn't like he was missing anything; they never did anything to begin with. Light flooded into the dark room and every head turned in his direction as Jack opened the door.

"What do you want?" The teacher snapped as she squinted at him past the overhead.

Jack walked to his seat. "You gave me a pass. I'm coming back." He lied smoothly.

A few people from the snickered behind their desk, but the rest of the class watched with interest, grateful for the interruption. Jack Kelly did it again. If anyone else besides him tried this stunt weekly, they would have been caught immediately. Jack was untouchable.

"Oh." She said trying, but failing to remember. "Sit down."

Jack took his seat in the back of the room and looked over toward Racetrack who rolled his eyes as promised.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** _Newsies_ is not mine. The title is not even mine. Before _Newsies_ was a musical, it was a drama called _Hard Promises_, about striking newsboys with a certain subplot that never made it into the final movie. This story is a mashing of the two in a modern setting without the music or strike.

* * *

><p><strong>Hard Promises<strong>

"Every kid is a friend, every friend a brother."

* * *

><p>Chapter Two<p>

Within half an hour Jack forgot about the new students he saw in the office, his mind more preoccupied imagining himself with the horses at the Copper Sun Stable where he worked, wasted time, or whatever he felt like doing as long as he could wear his well-worn black cowboy hat. The object itself wasn't what his coworkers considered real. Not compared to their fancy equipment. Despite the jokes, Jack loved the feel of the soft leather cord beneath his chin.

Not today though, he reminded himself with agitation. Tuesday was his day off. Far worse, tonight was "family dinner night," the current bane of Jack's existence.

The Doctor and his wife preferred a more traditional lifestyle, home cooked food, meals at a table, –– forks on the left, spoons on the right –– talking to each other, raising someone else's bastard kid and all that jazz. Most nights Jack had the excuse of working into the evening, and his foster parents respected his distance only demanding one evening. He rather be left alone in all honesty.

The rest of the school day passed slowly, like always. Jack enjoyed the routine of the day, the antics of his friends. Swifty threw BBs in the economics teacher's coffee –– an immature, though justifiable act after Weasel murmured a mild racial slur under his breath yesterday. Mr. Wiesel never noticed the addition to his morning joe, or pretended not to, much his student's dismay.

Mush spent the better part of the day hiding the fact he was writing a love poem in his notebook. He thoughtfully scribbled all morning, erased some, than wrote again. Two hours after lunch curiosity got the better of Skittery in pre-calc and he swiped it from Mush's hands.

For you alone this pen shall write my heart

Two lovers we, nay never meant to meet

Frozen ice cubes melted before they start

Or a dog forbidden from juicy meat

Stars shine tracing path between our homes

Can love mourn loss before …

A deep blush colored Mush's tanned cheeks. "It's a sonnet!" He insisted. "For extra credit."

Skittery looked skeptical, then nodded slowly. "The girls I know dig being compared to a slab of meat."

If possible, Mush's ears turned a brighter shade of pink. "It's a work in progress –– gimme that." He took the notebook back and cradled it protectively against his chest until the final bell rang.

Like his friends, Jack couldn't wait to get outside. He longed to be away from the stupid school building and the claustrophobic feeling of powerlessness that weighed on him inside. His mind kept traveling to the fresh air outdoors, the sun. He found himself grateful school was over.

At the end of the day Jack made beeline for the back parking lot tucked between the auditorium and band wing to catch a ride before his friends left. They'd leave him; he knew they would.

"You walked today, didn't ya, Cowboy." Race said as Jack approached, casually leaning against the driver's door of his own beat up black piece of junk. The car was bought with his own pocket money, a fair portion made illegally. With five other kids Racetrack's parents refused to buy him a vehicle.

Jack didn't blinked at the nickname. After all, everyone else had a one too.

"Yeah, what 'bout it?" He asked.

"You don't live in the city, Jack! It's an hour walk."

"So?" Jack said bored.

Racetrack cursed him out before finishing simply, "You're a moron."

"'Least I ain't broke." Jack quipped, knowing the gambler wouldn't take offense.

Racetrack grinned ear to ear, shrugged. "Not for long. There's a race tomorrow an' I'm putting money down. If it comes through I get a two hundred outta the win."

While Racetrack shared Jack's love of horses, he liked them for an entirely different reason that often made Jack bite his tongue. Sure, he loved the thrill of speed. He also loved slow, long trail rides and lazy afternoons getting personal with the animals.

"Does your sister know about it? Or are you just going to give her the money this time?" Jack asked curiously.

Race's smile dropped.

"No, and you ain't gonna tell her. She's still buying candy bars off what she caught me with last time. Damn eight year old nearly wiped me out." He cursed again before looking over to Jack. "Speakin' of which, no money equals no extra gas. I can't afford to take ya."

"I'm sure you can spare." Jack answered tightly leaning heavily against the rusted car.

Mush with Kid Blink in tow showed up to his in time for a witty one liner Jack had obviously never heard from his friends before.

"Just ride your horse home, Cowboy." Blink offered cheekily. His smile stretched from ear to ear and damn if it wasn't genuine. Someone would think it was the world's best joke the way Mush laughed. Jack did not find amusing.

"'Least I can drive." Jack shot back. This time the Race and Mush laughed, but Kid's smile turned forced at the reminder. With his bad eye he'd never get behind the wheel legally.

"You live closest," Jack argued to Race, already moving toward the passenger side "Come on. Eight blocks ain't far. I'll pay you back." He offered.

It was tempting Jack saw in Racetrack's eyes. Too tempting.

"Better." Race threatened loosely. He didn't mean it.

Victory. Jack opened door and sat down in before the Italian boy any other chance to object. Race got in also, taking his sweet time to buckle his seatbelt before starting the engine. Jack relaxed, grateful for the friendship.

"Where you going, home?" Racetrack asked as they pulled out of the parking lot. Waiting around cleared most of the student traffic enough for an unhindered exist. They sailed smoothly until hitting the world's longest red light. Someone behind them honked in protest.

Jack fiddled with the radio, not caring for any particular song or station. Voices and rhythms flickered between channels. He changed the station. Again.

It was not his home, not for the last two years or however long he stayed before leaving, but Jack didn't bother correcting Race. The meaning was clear.

"Yeah." Jack answered. "Don't worry, I got my own way to get to the square."

The light finally changed. Green.

Racetrack kept his eyes fixed forward on the road, but managed to cock an eyebrow. "Walkin?"

Jack glared.

Race, being a tightwad that he was, and knowing Jack's fondness for exercise, dropped Jack off halfway between their houses after "forgetting the turn." Now they were even after this morning. Shouldering his backpack, Jack walked four blocks east towards the familiar white house. He lived there, but it wasn't home.

Two times a week Jack and his friends headed to a little square in the middle of town. It was a small place, not very private either since it was located solely in the middle of a busy town, but it worked enough for them to come back week after week. Considering the boys lived scattered all over the area, the square proved to be the best place to meet.

Everyone took the afternoons off from work, avoided detention, and ditched their girlfriends for a few hours to hang out. Truthfully it was cheesy, Jack was the first to admit it, and had done so loudly on occasion, but that hadn't stopped anyone from coming yet.

When Jack first arrived two years ago he accepted most of his friends tradition without any complaint. The nicknames were amusing. Sabotaging one teacher a year was questionable. A few he rolled his eyes at –– singing Christmas Carols, even the parody ones publicly–– no. But they had been showing up at the square for years, since middle school he guessed, and who was he to change that now.

Cruelly, it reminded Jack he was an outsider to much of his friend's histories. Even if they filled him in on the time Jake said "udder" instead of "rudder" during a 5th grade speech in front of the whole class, he couldn't laugh at the memory of it.

But two years passed. New memories, tragic and hilarious, formed. Jack blended seamlessly into the group dynamic as if he had grown up with his friends.

At first the nicknames felt awkward on his tongue. They still do sometimes, but less now than they once had. Oddly all the boys had one, and Jack, for the life of him, could not figure out why. That's how friends were, right? Full of inside jokes, undying loyalty, and shamelessly willing to sell each other out in a heartbeat for a laugh. To say the least it to kept things interesting.

As long as the rest had a nickname he supposed he didn't mind being labeled too. Jack had been called far worse names than Cowboy in the past. The name grew on him after a while, king of like it was honorable or something –– not that he's ever admit.

At least he wasn't labeled Snoddy.

"How do you know Jack ain't my nickname?" He boldly asked them two years ago. The question struck his friends as odd, but wasn't worth a second thought after they knew his wiseass comebacks.

"We got horses 'round here?" Dutchy once asked after learning Jack's job.

At the edge of the street Jack saw the Doctor's shiny metallic red car parked in the driveway next to his own less impressive black one. When the man and his wife bought it for him, used, Jack tried to refuse such an expensive gift. He'd never be able to pay it back, didn't want to owe a debt. He wasn't fond of driving the death traps anyway.

The Doctor was home earlier than Jack expected, not that it mattered. Jack planed to drop his bag off, say hello quickly, politely, and leave like he did everyday. They were happier and far more lenient when he checked in with them first.

Jack opened the front door and heard the familiar clatter of dog nails against the tile as the family pet ran to see the visitor. It was some fancy breed, purebred retriever or something. Real stupid. The Doctor's Wife loved it anyway, why, he couldn't figure. The golden fur ball stopped in the opposite doorway and cocked it's head to the side, disappointed to find him instead of the female master.

Sometimes he could swear it acted human. "Hello to you too." Jack muttered stepping inside and closing the door.

That was all the greeting he was going to give the mutt, but it seemed to be enough of an invitation because the thing came forward eager to sniff him.

"Go away." Jack pushed the dog aside gently, but the innocent black eyes stared up at him. Not once in seventeen years had Jack or anyone he lived with, parent or guardian, owned a pet. Not even a cheep carnival goldfish. Dogs were foreign as aliens and unnerved him just as much. He preferred large and predictable animals, like horses.

He headed upstairs, ignoring how the dog followed him eagerly, and threw his bag onto the floor of his bedroom. It landed on cloths, paper, and whatever else he left there, a room with only one bed that he didn't have to share with anyone else. Though Jack didn't want to admit it he felt more possessive of the space than anywhere else in the house.

Jumping foster homes every few weeks never gave Jack enough time to make a room messy, not when everything he owned was packed inside a suitcase and backpack.

Today, there was no force on earth that could make him clean that bedroom.

Jack closed the door to his room, the doctor's wife hated to see it in that state of disorder, and turned to the staircase before pausing. He figured the doctor was in his study, probably with a giant book cracked between his hands. That's what P.H.D. card carries did in their time off, right? The least Jack could do was say hello before running off.

He turned around and walked toward the end of the hall. If all else Jack could earn points for trying. Chances were the study door would be closed, and if that were the case Jack wouldn't interrupt.

Or the doctor wouldn't be there at all, but Jack doubted it.

The doctor spent nearly all his time at home in his study, and that time at was limited to begin with. The door was open, Jack saw as he came to it. The man sat facing his computer, concentrating on something, an e-mail, deep in his own thoughts. Jack knocked on the doorframe to get his attention.

His thoughts interrupted, the doctor turned in his computer chair. Pleasantly surprised, he smiled seeing Jack. The man was young enough to be his older brother.

"I'm back." Jack said plainly as he leaned lazily against the door frame.

"Good. Good," He murmured, shaking himself from his thoughts. "How was your day?"

"Fine." Jack didn't bother to elaborate. No one really cared. Out of habit his eyes swept over the room, watching. Observing. Nothing had changed; everything from the photo of his wife on the desk to the books on the shelf were neatly in place.

Jack lived with the Doctor and his wife for two years now, but his answers to their questions remained the same: simple and emotionless, mostly because he had nothing to say to them. Those folks so clean and proper never had a bad day in their life. Jack felt like a stain in their presence. They came from different backgrounds is all, Jack reminded himself.

Jack knew he had to answer that question. 'How are you?' He'd played the game enough to know. When foster parents ask questions, they aren't looking for just an answer. When they ask a question, it's a test. Answering is passing because it means every thing's normal, just like it should be. Not answering meant problems, and problems meant counseling and medication.

He liked to pretend the Doctor and his wife weren't watching his every move, but he knew better. Answering dumb questions was just easier.

He knew the man and his wife were trying to help. They cared, and Jack didn't know how to handle it. He sometimes gave them credit for being nice, giving him a bed and all, but honestly Jack wanted to be left alone. He could do just fine by himself. In the house there was an unspoken system of "you try, I try", and so far it had worked nicely. No need to upset the balance now.

After hearing about his story through the media (and let's be real, who hadn't) the good doc and his wife asked the state to house him. How generous. A hundred other families did too, but he somehow ended up here instead. Not that he was complaining. . .

"You didn't take your car tod-"

"Yeah." Jack cut hid foster father off. Would everyone drop it already? "I got a ride. They're waiting for me now, so I gotta … I'm … I'm gonna go. I'll be back." Jack lied cutting the meeting short.

The lying was starting to become a habit he realized, but Jack pushed the thought aside.

"Okay." The doctor said warmly. "We're having a family dinner tonight, so be on time." Jack nodded weakly at the reminder. He hated "family dinners". They were like flu shots; painful yet survivable, and certainly nothing he volunteered for. The doctor spun around in his office chair back to his computer.

Jack walked out of the house, ignoring the dog on his way out.

Two nights a week, those who had avoided detentions, and work hours went to the square, Newsies Square as it had been branded. None of them actually knew what the name meant, (and no one took the incentive to find out either) but it stuck ever since the kids found the name years ago scratched on the base of the pathetic statue in the middle of the square.

Jack had heard the story of how all his friends had hung out there since their innocent elementary school days. He knew them long enough to laugh at the thought. It was impossible Skittery, Pie Eater, and Swifty of were ever innocent.

Jack's ten minute walking trip came to an end as he strolled up to the raised cobblestones that formed the floor of the square. Somewhere, he knew, the architect must be throwing a fit at the blasphemous use of his ungodly creation. Seriously, why did the city keep that ugly-ass statue. By now the boys that climbed on it wore away the bronze, leaving shiny gold kneecaps on the statue of the man where they often perched.

"Hey Jack!" Crutchy greeted cheerfully as he hobbled over to Jack on his good leg, crutch in tow. The pronounced limp looked better today, less painful than his friend let on. Never in two years had Jack Crutchy walk properly, but the handicap hadn't slowed him down.

"We were startin' to think you bailed on us or somethin'." The gimp laughed good-naturedly at his own joke. Jack abandon them: never. Jack, the taller of the two, slung his arm over Crutchy's shoulder as they made their way toward the center of the square where most of the friends had gathered already.

Jack felt the need to take him under his wing. After all, none of their other friends lived the cold hard truth that life sucked. Every day Crutchy dragged his clubbed foot, smiling with the best of them, never once letting the pain show. Jack appreciated it.

"Naw, got caught up at home." Jack explained, "Nothin' big."

"Or the bum decided to walk again." Racetrack voiced. The Swifty and Itey chuckled.

The small Italian boy ducked quickly as Jack took a friendly swing at his head. "Shut up."

"Just lookin' out for ya." Race answered cheekily taking a casual step backward a safer distance. The boy was smarter than he acted.

"Looky there." Skittery pointed his chin toward the street in front of the square. The boys turned from their conversations to see a cop car slowly roll past at a crawling pace. The man inside said nothing, but watched the teenage boys looking for a signal, rising smoke, a glass bottle, anything to break up the party. All the boys waved politely. Jack, Dutchy, Blink and Crutchy turned away, back to the semi-circle the group naturally formed. "Second time in a half hour ––steppin' up." Skittery mocked.

"Good ol' tax dollars." Specs added.

Skittery clapped Boots, who already stood near him, on the shoulder, but Boots engaged in stopping Snipeshooters harebrained scheme to ask Ashley Tomasian, glanced up in confusion. "It was nice knowing you. You were a good kid."

Boots made a face of confusion. "What?"

Skittery nodded in solemnly. "Nothing. Stay with the group."

The officer drove past, ignoring them like street trash.

"I swear they're puttin' our nights on their calendars." Racetrack rolled a piece of gum between his teeth, unaware of the habit after all these years. He fingered a worn deck of cards in his pants pocket. "We gotta start gettin' creative." He muttered. "Give 'em the slip."

"Not like we're doing anything wrong." Pie Eater challenged. "Hey, Dutchy, you murdered anyone?"

The blonde shook his head.

"Blink? Swify? Cowboy?" Pie Eater continued with a bone to pick at the law. Jack's ears burned at the suggestion. "Then we got as much right to be here as anyone else."

Lately police cruisers had changed their route, started driving around the square more often than necessary. Sooner or later tire indents would appear on the pavement. Parents, not theirs of course, were to blame. All the boys knew it. God forbid a bunch of public school boys look like a gang instead of a group of friends.

Maybe when little brothers like Snipeshooter and Tumbler started tagging along –– exposed to the dangerous influences of the teenage boys the cops started showing up. Largely, the younger boys found the older one's talk boring. Girls were curious, but still gross. They didn't know any of the high school teachers, but knew their reputations.

Tumbler's hero worship for Snoddy's friends, mainly Skittery, ran deep. Usually he'd convince them to play some type of game with him just by acting cute. (Kid played catch and soccer pretty well, until his eye patch. Racetrack was always ready for a game of cards even if he wouldn't give away his secrets, and Mush and Bumlets had good dance moves to share.)

While Racetrack found Snipeshooter annoying, the kid became turned him into some type of swave idol. Snipeshooter seemed to think he always had a joke behind his teeth, a prank up his sleeve, and something illegal in his pocket. Big brother Pie Eater did not approve, but neither did Race.

Boots, Snipeshooter and Tumbler agreed they at least looked cool standing with the high school boys.

"Where's Mush?" Itey asked, confused by his dark skinned friend's absence.

"Writing bad poetry." Skittery suggested. Pie Eater laughed, and despite himself, Bumlets did too.

Specs snorted. "Like you could do better." He challenged.

"Yeah, I could." Skittery agreed.

But Mush remained missing. Usually he and Kid Blink were joined at the hip laughing at a private joke between themselves.

Despite the group dynamic, Jack realized nearly all of the boys buddied up. Kid and Mush, Itey and Snitch, Dutchy and Specs. Heck, even Skittery had taken to mentoring Tumbler, Race to Snipeshooter no matter how much the older boy denied it. Why didn't Jack have a friend like that? He could take a kid under his wing like the others.

Oh yeah, he remembered.

The group turned to Blink for an answer.

"Dunno, he shoulda been here by now." Blink shrugged it off, figuring Mush would get the square when he was good and ready. They knew sometimes he had a habit of losing himself in the daydreams of his own head.

"Maybe he's got theater or somethin', but he woulda told me." Blink muttered to himself.

"Hey, there he is!" Snitch, with a keen eye, pointed past their heads to the left of the square. Sure enough, Mush sprinted toward them at a speed fast enough to impress Swifty.

On any given day one of them was running from someone. Playful in the sense of a prank gone awry, or serious, as in high tailing it away from impending doom, the act was old news. Racetrack didn't even have time make a wager before Mush leaped into the center of the square and stopped abruptly.

What situation had the boy gotten himself into now?

Mush breathed heavily for a moment, his eyes dancing eagerly to explain his absence and rushed arrival. His friends were not so patient.

"Come on already." Blink urged, not letting on how grateful he was to see Mush again. "What happened?"

Mush took another deep breath, not ready quite yet.

"Who's girl did you go after?" Racetrack asked offhandedly. The same thought crossed Jack's mind. After all, Mush had a habit of flirting without even realizing the power it wielded on an unsuspecting girl. To make matters worse, the boy was drawn to girls like flies to honey.

"What?" He panted heavily, confused, but innocent. "No, not this time." He gave a quick laugh. "The Delanceys. They're headed over here."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hard Promises**

"Every kid is a friend, every friend a brother."

* * *

><p>Chapter Three<p>

Mush's shoulders sank under the weight of the bad news he delivered.

The Delancey brothers left a bitter taste on all the boy's tongues. They were scum. Loyal only to themselves and ready to tattle, rat, or snitch on anyone just for the pleasure of watching others burn. Over the years Oscar and Morris's playground bullying escalated.

More than half of the boys at Newsies Square received undeserved detentions at one point or another based purely on rumors started by the brothers. _Mush kissed a girl behind the slide in elementary school … Pie Eater hit me … It's missing so Swifty stole it … Race cheats the younger kid out of their money in card games._

Jack was glad to have missed the worst of the Delancey's torment. Still, he didn't feel safe from their wrath, especially now. If they knew –– if they knew what he did, Jack couldn't bring himself to think about the consequences.

The Delancey's spat every type of racial and ethnic slur imaginable. Chinatown jokes about Swifty, Italian insults directed at Itey and Racetrack, calling Dutchy a Nazi for his bright blue eyes and blonde hair, the list when on. If Jack heard one more the drunk Irish comment pointed towards him, he might not be able to stop himself from beating their faces into the floor.

If the Delancey's were coming to them, there must be a reason. What dirt did they have? The brothers didn't live nearby. Besides, they had their own haunts, so they had no reason to drop by other than to stir up trouble.

"Why'd they do that?" Blink asked angrily, tips of his ears burning red as he remembered Oscar making fun of his bad eye. "Are they really that stupid?"

Skittery, cool as a cucumber and always on point, rolled his eyes. "You gotta ask?"

He was right. The goons weren't known for their brains even on the best of days. Their uncle Wiesel, better known as Weasel, directed his nephews as if they were pawns on a chessboard.

"They after anyone?" Race asked seriously, finally dropping his sarcastic manner for the time that afternoon.

"Don't know. Don't think so," Mush answered. He nearly caught his breath, but the flush hadn't left his cheeks.

"I heard Weasel's payin' them to get the cops after us," Skittery stated dryly. He had a way of saying almost everything in that sarcastically bored tone. "He's trying to prove that we should all be in jail or somethin' 'cause 'we are useless delinquents that are going to spend our lives working in a factory because we aren't ever going to get a real paycheck.'"

Figured. Jack snorted in amusement. "Where'd you hear that?"

Weasel would love nothing more than to see them all in handcuffs paraded around like convicts before shipping them around the country to dump on other teachers and juvie officers.

"Weasel," Skittery smirked. "The halls echo a little more than he'd like 'em to."

"Hey!" Tumbler and Snipeshooter shouted, breaking the conversation of the older boys.

Everyone whipped around to find the younger boys' tin of marbles open. Little glass balls bounced wildly across the brick of the square into the drain gutters. The boys didn't play marbles, so much as collect and trade the trinkets.

Standing directly in the middle of the chaos were the Delanceys, apathetic toward the game and the people they interrupted.

Oscar Delancey smiled as he took a step forward and pushed aside Tristan, one of the littler boys. Without thinking, Jack instantly put himself between the two. The little red haired kid scrambled to the safety of the larger group as Jack and Oscar stood nose-to-nose, so close they smelled the loathing on each other's breath.

Oscar hated self-centered pretty boys. They didn't know shit. And here was Jack Kelly, the goddamn leader of them posing in front of his stupid posse to play the hero.

"Wanna try that again?" Jack threatened casually.

Oscar ignored him as if the words were an irritating dust kicked up from the cobblestones. He sneered.

"You think you're so damn special. Gotta be the hero, don't ya, Cowboy. Especially with all them little kids watchin'."

Jack's jaw clenched, but his face remained still and unreadable. Unfazed.

Suddenly, Oscar wanted to break that façade, to rattle Cowboy until he found a weak spot and Jack was nothing more than a frightened, miserable, angry animal lashing out like everyone else.

The rest of the boys –– Race, Blink, Jake, Mush, Dutchy, and Snoddy –– faded from their minds. The crowd circled around, but Jack and Oscar had yet to notice. From the sidelines Racetrack tried taking odds, not on Jack because it was a given he'd win (They loyally assumed. He was more clever and equally as athletic) but for how badly Jack would beat the Delancey's ego into the ground.

"Yeah, that's a habit of yours, ain't it, Cowboy. You like saving the little kids. You like hangin' out with 'em too. Spending time with little boys, that's creepy if you ask me. Why do you like them so much?"

Given the chance, Oscar would have kept going until Jack lashed out purely in disgust.

Instead, Jack, with a faint slight of hand, pushed the Delancey backward. Oscar fell to the pavement hard. The boys watching went wild, cheering and hollering with joy. Morris threw a punch to Jack's face he barely dodged in time.

Jack had never been a particularly polished fighter. Speed and adrenaline served him better than strength the few times he found himself in scuffles. Morris and Oscar were full of brute strength, but Jack, on the other hand, was fast.

If they wanted to beat him bloody they had to catch him first.

The last thing any of the boys at Newsies Square needed were cops swooping down on them. Pie Eater and Skittery jumped forward between Morris and Jack. No one moved for a moment.

Oscar picked himself up off the cobblestones and wiped the dust from his pants.

As Skittery and Pie Eater moved back Racetrack stepped forward calmly and put a hand on Jack's shoulder, warning Jack to relax and not take their insults personally. "This ain't middle school, get outta here," he spat at the Delanceys.

"Nah. See, we live here too and got every right being here, shortstop. Maybe it's you who should leave, Kelly. If I'm remembering right this ain't even from here. You don't belong."

"Get outta here," Jack said boredly as if their previous words hadn't fazed him as much as they did. The brothers stood their ground. Jack's eyes narrowed as he took another step forward, away from Racetrack, and put himself inches away from the brothers. At full height he stood taller than them, just barely, but looked even more intimidating. He was not backing away from a challenge.

"We'll take you down, Cowboy," Morris threatened coldly. Jack knew they had the power, but didn't care. Not right now.

"Then I'm taking you with me," he whispered, shoving Morris backward. The older boy fell. Hard. A quick smile escaped Jack's lips as he turned and ran.

Twice he knocked the Delancey brothers flat to the ground without throwing a punch. Their faces burned red in anger and embarrassment, but Jack didn't see.

Oscar chased after him, unable to yell any curses and threats.

Cheering and hoots of laugher broke out again from the sidelines. Despite the threat of the cops, the boys loved a good chase. Jack sprinted around the square though it was small, using his speed to turn and weave easily through the crowd as they parted for him. Oscar followed, shoving the other boys aside to keep up.

Morris picked himself up quickly. Nobody made of fool of him. Not his brother, his uncle, and definitely not Jack Kelly.

He stood and briefly watched the game of cat and mouse around the square. Cowboy would pay for their humiliation. Morris guaranteed it.

In a rush of adrenaline, Jack forgot about the Morris, only focusing on Oscar close behind him.

As Cowboy ran past Morris grabbed the back of his shirt and threw him to the ground. Jack twisted out of his grip, but tumbled to the cobblestones, unable to stop himself. His palms scraped the bricks. Kid, Mush, and all the other boys held their breath.

The Delancey brothers would have beat him into the pavement with one or two well aimed kicks before the other boys chased them off, but Jack rolled out of their reach and scrambled to his feet as the two came near.

"We're gonna kill you!" Oscar yelled.

Call it showmanship or the thrill of danger, but Jack loved the feeling of excitement racing through every nerve of his body. It urged Jack to keep running, keep antagonizing the Delancey brothers in a performance for his friends. He wasn't afraid of much, certainly not bullies weak enough to pick battles with little kids.

Nobody's fist and threats made him cower, not anymore.

He felt more alive than he had in months.

Jack should have stopped right there, ended the fight before it got out of hand. But he didn't.

He sprinted out of the square into the street, to the disappointment the on looking boys.

Empty of traffic, the street led Jack north followed closely by his pursuers. It was safer than the square's tight boundaries.

With enough luck and speed he could out run the Delanceys until they lost him or gave up.

"You're dead Cowboy!" Oscar yelled.

Jack made a tight turn onto a narrow side street. He flew through it, jumping crates and ducking a few loose cables hanging low from the building. The few people on the street watched the commotion, either entertained or disgusted by it.

Oscar and Morris were twenty feet behind him and slowly loosing distance, but not fast enough for Jack's liking. His own lungs burned with the effort of pushing forward, faster than he could keep up for several minutes.

"Dead, Cowboy! Dead!" Oscar shouted again.

Jack turned a sharp right corner, mentally mapping out an escape route as he collided with something hard. He and the other person (it was a person, not a brick wall, tank or immovable object, though it felt like it) fell roughly to the cement.

This time, the air rushed from Jack's lungs, leaving him momentarily stunned by the impact. He landed harshly on his right side without time to catch himself. God, his arm and chest hurt. Swearing, Jack rolled off the person and cradled his right arm as a stab of familiar pain shot through it.

Damn it, that arm would be the end of him. It had already broken twice on memorable occasions. The night he was nearly beaten to death, the night everything changed. The second time he fell down the stairs of yet another foster home, genuinely slipped on the carpet of a dark staircase and tumbled down. He didn't need another fracture.

Remembering his pursuers, Jack clenched his arm tighter to his chest, though it didn't help ease the pain, and stood quickly to glance over his shoulder. His own victim crawled to his hands and knees, attempting to stand and brush the soreness away. No obvious damage to him. Jack turned away and stepped forward, using the moment to catch his breath. He needed to get out of there. Fast.

Some day this was turning out to be.

The person Jack ran into managed to pull himself together. He looked as young as Jack, but far more angry for being knocked to the ground by a complete stranger. Beneath his mess of curly brown hair his forehead creased in disbelief.

"What are you doing?" the boy demanded.

Jack merely glanced over at the unfamiliar voice. He didn't care.

Now he saw the person in front of him, he looked vaguely familiar. Not someone Jack saw regularly, but enough to give him pause. When had they met? Jack couldn't place him, so where was he from? School? No. The stables? No.

This morning!

It was the guy in the office. Yeah. He and his sister came in all cute and shiny on their first day. Where was she now he wondered? Jack recognized the blue eyes and curly brown hair easily, as well as the same stiff formal shirt.

Not bothering to answer, Jack shifted his gaze to the corner where the Delanceys were about to appear.

Instead, the younger boy standing beside the older one caught Jack's attention. His nearly shaggy brown hair and sharp jaw looked familiar, as did the look of awe and fascination as he stared at Jack.

Had the grumpy older boy placed his hand on the little boy's shoulder possessively, Jack would have believed him to be the hallucination he'd seen wandering through his vision the past two years.

But this kid stood before him in the flesh. Real and alive.

He had no time to think. Oscar and Morris barreled wildly around the corner, accidently tackling both boys. All four toppled to the ground in a messy pile of limps.

Jack stepped backwards, ready to run as a shiny new police cruiser pulled up against the curb, officially ending any further chase. The Delancey's pulled themselves to their feet hastily before turning their attention on the cop car.

Jack casually moved closer to the older boy and offered a hand to help him up as a peace offering. At first, the boy refused out of pride, but then he looked over at the police car before accepting Jack's help reluctantly.

A middle-aged office opened the door and stepped out only to lean against the hood. He scanned over them quickly with more annoyance than anger in his eyes. "There a problem here boys?"

Sharp disdain for youth spread across the city, assuming everyone under the age of twenty-one a delinquent. Even the gifted and talented kids had something to hide. As for the rest, they might as well go to jail before anyone actually got hurt.

Oscar, Morris and Jack spent their lives filling this role and acted the part of uncouth deviants perfectly. They hated adults as much as adults hated them.

"No sir." Morris answered, his tone bordering on the edge of arrogance. He turned toward Jack, as if he would answer differently. On cue the cop followed his gaze.

Not intimidated, Jack met the man's eyes, but remained silent.

"Looked like a problem to the woman who called it in," the man said gruffly, now glancing between the two groups that formed very distinct sides. "I don't care what happened. You bother any one else and I'll haul all your asses in, got it? We aren't putting up with you anymore. The next time I get a call about you or your friends the curfew drops from 11:00 to 4:30. Got it?"

The two sides nodded unapologetically, though they believed the promise somewhere behind the threat.

"Good. Get out of here." He waited for the two groups to turn and leave in opposite directions.

"Come on," Jack muttered to the brothers. Nudging the younger, the older boy stepped in line beside Jack after weighing his choices between leaving with the victim or the pursuers of the chase.

Together, they walked down the street, feeling the eyes of the unhelpful officers bore into their backs.

"You're new, aren't you?" Jack asked casually as they wandered nowhere specifically. They turned left, glad to finally be out of sight.

"Yeah," the older boy answered, short and clipped, revealing no details. Obviously, he trusted Jack as much as the police and the Delanceys. Whatever. Jack grew used to unnecessary judgment from strangers the past three years. Still hurt though.

Don't sweat it." Jack ignored the discomfort. "So how long you been here?"

"Three days," the brown haired little boy supplied eagerly.

"Yeah," Jack smiled and gladly turned his attention to the kid. The little boy beamed. "Where'd you move from?"

The kid opened his mouth to answer, but his older brother put his hand on the boy's shoulder, stopping both walking any farther and words. Jack stopped too.

"I'm sorry," the older boy said bluntly, "but who are you and what, what are you doing?"

"I am trying to talk to you," Jack answered smoothly. Charm had a way of glossing over every situation. However, this guy wasn't buying it.

"What happened back there?" he asked aggressively. "Why were they chasing you?"

Perhaps if confronted, the boy believed Jack might show is true colors. He was testing Jack, looking for any hostile defensive behavior, but didn't come off nearly as intimidating a he wanted.

Jack laughed lightly. "We had a disagreement. They think it's fun to knock around kids half their size. I don't."

"I bet," the boy said skeptically. "Look, sorry but I don't even know you. I don't ––"

The kid interrupted. "They called him Cowboy, didn't they?" He proudly looked up at the two. His older brother shot him an angry glare.

"That wasn't the only name they called him," he reminded his brother.

Jack ignored him again. "Yeah. Well, I'm called that and a few other things, including Jack Kelly." He gave the little boy a playful pat on the shoulder. "What do they call you, kid?"

Once again he grinned ear to ear happy to be acknowledged by someone as exciting as Jack "Les," he introduced. "And this is my brother David; he's older."

Jack resisted a laugh. David's disapproval for Jack and Les volunteering that information were clearly written on his face. Jack swallowed another laugh. "No kidding. So how old are you Les?"

"Near ten," he answered proudly.

Jack's insides churned. Of course the kid was ten. Not six or twelve. Same age as … "Ten's good, real good," Jack said absently as he remembered. Another idea popped into his head, about as impulsive and self-serving as any of his plans. "Come on, I'll take ya around town. You can meet the other guys. Our age and his," Jack offered nodding to Les.

"Yeah!" Les agreed enthusiastically. They would all be as cool as Jack, he assumed. On the other hand, David knew his little brother would blindly jump off a bridge if someone suggested it. He sensed Les' hero worship of this stranger had only begun.

Wisdom and age made David far less impressed by Jack than his younger brother. After all, someone being chased by thugs and lectured (not defended) by the police was completely innocent and trustworthy. Sure. His mother would have a heart attack if she ever found out what kind of person her sons met this afternoon.

Then again, since when was his mother, religious and too cautious to even let David (or Sarah) drive their family's van, a correct moral standard? Rebellion suddenly felt more appealing. But the thought blindly following Jack was too much for him. "Wait a minute," David said stopping them before his brother could go any further.

He looked at Jack seriously. "Why are you talking to us? What's in it for you?"

Jack shrugged, unconsciously defending himself. "You think you're the only one who's ever moved here. Leaving everything you've ever known sucks. Making friends is hard.

I figured you wanted a friend. You've probably talked to what, three people since living here?"

Jack's estimates weren't off.

David paused in surprise. "When did you move here?"

"Two years ago." Jack's eyes wandered toward the ground as he confessed, "And took three months before someone talked to me."

And suddenly David saw Jack in a whole new light. He was a wildcard, but not a criminal. Considerate and kind enough to reach out to two people that needed the help he'd been denied.

"You just want to be friends? That's it?"

"Well not if you're going to make it difficult," Jack countered lightly. He himself questioned why he wanted to be friends. It wasn't as noble as he made it seem. He had enough friends already. Maybe Jack just wanted one more.

Jack couldn't tell whether his next words were to convince David or himself.

"Look David, I ain't a bad guy, all right. Promise. Just give me a chance."

Quickly, David read the sincerity on Jack's face. Les' puppy dog eyes begged him to take Jack's offer. Did they have anything to lose. If he didn't like Jack he'd never had to see him again.

Besides, this was David's chance think for himself, to be a rebel or even normal. He could start over in a new city , a new school, with new friends. Brand new.

Pushing all doubt aside, David agreed. "Alright." Jack clapped him on the shoulder and Les smiled.

David pushed the doubt away again.

They walked around town for an hour. Time flew. Les enthusiastically told Jack everything (an understatement - the kid never stopped talking) about his family while David elaborated for him.

Their father had a bad work injury a six months ago and, because the company was at fault, their family received a large settlement. Not millions, but it was enough for a new, bigger house in a different city. Jack learned the two had a sister who was older than David. And their mother was allergic, so Les owned a lousy goldfish.

"What about your family?" Les looked up at Jack. Though it shouldn't, the simple question put him uncomfortably on the spot.

Jack shrugged. "It's not much. We're normal, boring." The words weren't a lie, not completely.

"Well, do you have brothers or sisters?" Les asked hopeful for a playmate just as cool as Jack.

"Nope. Just me."

As he said it, Jack looked over to see the familiar ghost of his brother not more than ten feet in front of him on the sidewalk. The pale, dark eyed boy stared at him silently, head cocked questioning the truth of his words.

The other two boys couldn't see him. Jack pretended not to also.

"That is boring," Les stated bluntly. He could never imagine life without his brother and sister, even if he tried. David and Sarah were always there, all the time. What could Jack even do for fun without a big family?

"Les," David warned sharply hoping to shut him up. He looked at Jack and silently apologized.

Jack kept himself focused on them instead of the boy ghost lingering in his peripheral. Eventually it would disappear if he ignored it long enough. It was only his imagination after all.

"What!" Les protested in wide eyed innocence. "He said it first, and Mamma says if they say it I can -"

"Les. Not now!" David tried to push his brother to the side but Les easily dodged him. Jack watched them fondly remembering brotherly banter. Safely out of David's reach, Les continued.

"So it's just you and your parents." Jack felt the ghost's eyes on him, sad sorrow filled eyes that loved him too much to blame him. Jack took the blame upon himself. He nodded as an answer. It wasn't a lie; it just wasn't the truth. "Well, do you have a dog?" Les tried.

"Yeah." The mutt hated Jack, but the way the kids eyes lit up, he didn't have the heart to tell him.

"That's cool. I want to meet it some time. Can I?"

"Les-" David started again.

Jack waved him off. "Sure, another time."

David looked at his watch. "Les, it's late. Mamma wants us home before dinner."

It was that late already. Jack cursed inwardly. He was already late for tonight's family meal.

"See ya tomorrow," Jack offered, giving them the out they needed.

Les looked up excitedly. "Really?"

Ever the older brother, David stepped in. "We'll see. Come on, let's go." He nudged Les forward. "Thanks Jack. Bye."

He waved as they walked away. When Jack turned toward the other side of town, the silver ghost of a boy was still there, watching him.


End file.
